


american football

by ghosthunter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, flirting with other people to make your bf jealous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 14:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18625222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthunter/pseuds/ghosthunter
Summary: It doesn’t take Marcus long to get bored of the casino, sitting and waiting and killing time for the end of the event.





	american football

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ancientdeceiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancientdeceiver/gifts).



> bribe your bros to be their very best. ♥
> 
>  
> 
> thanks to jarka for the beta

It doesn’t take Marcus long to get bored of the casino, sitting and waiting and killing time for the end of the event. He could sit there and spend his own money at the blackjack table, but it’s boring. He ends up wandering off to one of the bars, where they have both American football and hockey on, and he sits at the bar to order a drink and kill some time. He texts Zhenya to let him know where he is.

He’s familiar with Casino Night. He’s been through his share. It’s just that he’s not involved in it this time. He had a game the night before, and he’s tired and he wants to go up to the hotel room that Zhenya booked for them, strip Zhenya out of his suit, and climb into bed with him.

Marcus leans an elbow against the bar, swirling his drink around in his glass. He’s staring blankly at the screens, not actually taking in either game happening on them, thinking. Daydreaming, mostly.

“Is this seat taken?” someone asks from next to him. There’s a blonde in a mini skirt, and he smiles at her without thinking.

“No, go ahead,” he says.

She’s mostly legs, and she perches on the barstool next to him with all that bare skin angled his way. He can appreciate that she’s pretty, in an abstract way, but she’s definitely just interrupted a line of thought he was having about putting his boyfriend in the jacuzzi tub in their hotel room suite.

She doesn’t say anything else to him for a moment, waiting for the bartender to come for her to order a drink. Once he’s gone, she turns back to Marcus.

“So are you like,” she starts, “really into one of these teams, or did the casino take all your money?”

She bumps her foot against his leg then, and he realizes that she’s dead-set on flirting with him. That’s fine, he guesses. It’s something to do while he’s waiting on Zhenya. Flirting doesn’t actually hurt anything.

“Oh,” he says. “I love - “ He squints up at the football game on the television. “The … Cleveland Browns.”

She laughs at that. He actually doesn’t know anything about the Cleveland Browns, except that they’re a team and they’re apparently not very good, based on the score.

“Not into football?” she asks. Her foot bumps against him again. He shifts slightly, moves his legs so that it’s harder for her to do. It turns him more toward her, but that’s okay. He leans against the bar, gives her his attention.

“Not American football,” he tells her.

“Oh, soccer, right?” she says. “Your accent isn’t American.”

“No,” he says, sipping his drink.

“Can I guess where from?” she asks. She tilts her head, tosses her hair back behind her shoulders. The dress isn’t that low cut, but the motion accentuates her cleavage anyway. She’s really pouring it on for him.

“Sure,” he tells her, and the bartender walks by to ask if he wants another drink. He does.

“It’s European, right?” she asks him. “Your accent. It’s not British or anything like that. I used to date this French guy, and it’s not that. Not Eastern European.”

“I speak some Russian,” he tells her. “But no, none of that.”

“Some kind of Scandinavian,” she says.

“You narrowed it down,” he says.

“You’ll have to tell me,” she says.

“I’m from Sweden,” he says.

“Do you live here now, or are you just visiting?” she asks.

“I live in America,” he tells her. “But I’m just visiting DC.” And he hates that, but he doesn’t tell her. Well, he doesn’t hate it, he deals with it. It’s not his favorite, it’s not ideal. It just is.

She keeps up the chatter, a couple more drinks, until the football game is over and Marcus checks his watch to see the time. Casino night should be wrapping up any minute, and he’s sent Zhenya a text letting him know what bar he’s set up shop in.

“So,” the girl says. “I have to go meet my friends, but can I give you my number?”

“You can give it, but I won’t let him call.”

She starts, and Marcus looks up to see Zhenya standing just behind her, and he smiles.

“It’s not nice to sneak up on a lady and scare her,” Marcus says, finishing the last of his drink.

“Oh,” Zhenya says. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t give him your number and expect him to call.”

“Um,” the girl says. Marcus still doesn’t know her name. But that’s fair, because he hasn’t given her his.

“I’m keep him from ghost you,” Zhenya says, and he smiles his most winning smile at her. He’s beautiful, and Marcus has a buzz, and even the girl melts a little under the force of that smile.

“Why wouldn’t you let him call?” she manages to ask. Marcus has to give her credit for thinking to ask it. At the same time, he also thinks she might wish she hadn’t, when he watches Zhenya’s smile turn a little mischievous. Marcus loves that smile.

“Usually,” Zhenya says. “You don’t let your boyfriend call other people, even if you let him flirt with them in bars.”

“It was boring here,” Marcus protests, leaning against the bar again. He looks at the girl. “You were great conversation.”

“Thank you?” she says, a little confused, looking between the two of them. Zhenya’s still wearing his suit and tie, a red rose still pinned to his lapel. Marcus is just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his sneakers expensive and too white. “Is he really your boyfriend, or are you guys just fucking with me?”

“He’s really my boyfriend,” Marcus says, sliding off his barstool. Once his feet are on the floor, Zhenya reaches out and reels him in close, sliding an arm around his waist, possessive. The girl looks at Marcus for a couple of moments longer.

“Well, if you change your mind,” she says, sliding down off the barstool. Her skirt rides up when she does it, and Marcus looks. Damn it, but he looks. He’s in a relationship, he’s not dead. “I’m here for a couple more days.”

“He’s not gonna change his mind,” Zhenya says, forcibly inserting himself between them and crowding Marcus away from her.

When they’re in the elevator alone, on their way up to their room, Zhenya pushes Marcus hard against the wall.

“You sat there and flirted with her all night?” Zhenya asks, and bites at Marcus’s lower lip.

“Not the whole night,” Marcus says. “Just like the last hour.”

“Asshole,” Zhenya says. “I’m taking pictures and you’re flirting with some girl.”

“She was nice,” Marcus says.

“Fuck nice,” Zhenya says. “You’re nice.”

Marcus laughs at him, and the elevator dings. Once they’re in the hotel room, Marcus lets Zhenya slam him down on the bed and climb up to straddle his hips.

“Were you trying to make me jealous?” Zhenya asks, and rubs his beard along Marcus’s neck until it starts to sting.

“Are you?” Marcus asks, digging his fingers into Zhenya’s hair and tugging. “Jealous?”

“Would you have given her your number?” Zhenya asks, lifting his head up until he’s looking straight into Marcus’s eyes.

“No,” Marcus says, breathing a little hard, looking up at Zhenya.

“Because you’re mine,” Zhenya says. It’s not a question.

“Yes,” Marcus says.

Zhenya leans down and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> on twitter @notedgoon


End file.
